


whimsical souls yet elastic hearts

by shortlock



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: California, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, okay chill maybe there's a break-up scene idk :), right person wrong time, so please don't expect anything other than fluffy trash, this was... basically just me experimenting with my writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortlock/pseuds/shortlock
Summary: Exhaustion slammed into him like the spike of a volleyball, and Oikawa, with all his strength, threw his ring against the wall in front of him. He watched the blue-grey plastic band break in half, then clatter down to the floor, one in the strawberry box and the other on top of Iwaizumi’s blankets.“Fuck,” he whispered, staring at the broken pieces. “Fuck.”The stars above twinkled despite the sorrow he felt. The broken ring didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, for the wind whispered into his ear, mocked,“Dear boy, what did you possibly expect?”alternatively: oikawa visits iwaizumi in irvine, california.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 95
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	whimsical souls yet elastic hearts

**Author's Note:**

> "and i can go anywhere i want; anywhere i want, just not home." -taylor swift  
> dedicated to pine!! <3

_sunday_

The rain drizzled down softly, fleeting drops and touches here and there, light mist enveloping the buildings and solemn trees in a hug. Raindrops trickled down the back of his neck, his collarbone, his bare calves, and blended with the faint tears on his reddened cheeks. The grip on the handle of his duffel bag tightened as he brought the other hand to brush the sleepiness and remnants of his breakdown out of his eyes. 

Oikawa swallowed before leaning back against the glass walls of the airport, tugging on the sleeves of his windbreaker, reasoning with himself that the cause of his tears was the exhaustion from his 16-hour-flight-plus-two-layovers and not because he would finally see Iwaizumi after five years. He was so happy, damn it, so happy to finally be in his best friend’s city, yet so insanely frightened. 

He watched as people near him shuffled around, some shading themselves from the nighttime rain while others headed straight out, nodding towards taxi drivers and family members. Every time a grey car neared the curb, a spark attacked his heart, only for the feeling to be instantly diminished once he noted that it wasn’t Iwaizumi’s car.

“Iwa-chan, come on,” he mumbled, tilting his face downwards into the collar of his jacket. “Did you happen to die on your way here?”

He thought about how unfortunate that’d be for his bank account.

For a few seconds, he wondered if coming here was an awful idea. Was his presence even welcomed, or would he be tolerated simply for childhood formalities? Should he have given Iwaizumi more time, or perhaps an option, rather than just announcing that he would be boarding a flight in twenty minutes and needed to be picked up? Oikawa knew he almost always acted impulsively, but even this was something he hadn’t imagined himself doing.

He felt a faint buzz in his back pocket and pulled out his phone. It was Iwaizumi. 

_“Hey look somewhere near the left maybe you can see me,”_ the message read, a single raindrop falling onto the dimly-lit screen. 

Nerve-wrecking sparks infiltrated his heart once more at the sight of a grey car, but this time, they stayed lit, for Oikawa vaguely recognized the license plate. It certainly seemed more familiar than the other ones he had seen, and that was good enough for him to stop bouncing on his toes. He murmured a quick _I see you_ that Iwaizumi couldn’t possibly hear before he carefully pushed through the massive crowd of people, light scents of coffee lingering in the air. His duffel bag seemed both lighter and heavier with each step he took, the weight akin to the feeling inside his chest. 

Iwaizumi was _right there,_ Oikawa realized once he paused at the hood of the vehicle. Iwaizumi was right there, less than seven feet away from him, getting out of the car to unlock the trunk. Iwaizumi was right there, sending him a quick smile as he pried the bag from his hand and tucked it inside the car. Iwaizumi was right there, raising an eyebrow at the helpless Oikawa and gesturing for him to also get inside the car.

He did.

It smelled like gasoline and cinnamon.

Warily and soundlessly, he watched Iwaizumi turn the keys, shift the gear into ‘drive,’ and maneuver through Californian-traffic. Warm air filtered through the air conditioning vent, and Oikawa slowly brought up his hands in front of it. He didn’t dare look at Iwaizumi, because then he’d be forced to see all the changes in him, major and minor, and his heart couldn’t handle that, couldn’t handle the multitude of differences between _his_ Iwaizumi and the third-year-university-student Iwaizumi in front of him. They drove in silence, awkwardness and foreignity threading through the air; he had never felt like this before with him.

“Hey,” Oikawa mumbled, an octave higher than silent, reminding himself that Iwaizumi was _right there._

From the corner of his eye, he saw Iwaizumi’s lips curve upwards amusingly. “Hey.”

His voice was far stranger than Oikawa remembered, so different without the frequent glitch of their cell phone connection. Somehow deeper and kinder, and he revelled in hearing the softness directed to him, as opposed to the anger he had grown accustomed to.

A single word repeated twice was all their two-hour ride entailed, for neither deemed it important enough to continue talking. The other’s presence was good enough, he tried, but gave up when he couldn’t understand why he was attempting to fool himself. It wasn’t enough for Oikawa, because tears threatened to spill, wanting nothing more than the familiarity of their friendship prior to him leaving, prior to graduation, when Iwaizumi was only three houses away and not 11,000 miles, not 6,000 miles; not even an arm-length would suffice.

So when Iwaizumi stopped his car in the parking lot beneath his apartment building, unlocked both their doors, and got his bag, Oikawa let him. When he wordlessly climbed the staircase he had used daily for the past five years, slowing down only so the younger boy could catch up, Oikawa let him. When he paused to pull out his keys and twist open his door, stepping in like it was home - because it was, had been for the past five years - Oikawa let him. When he slipped off his shoes and turned the lights on to brighten the apartment, Oikawa followed and let him. 

It was then, once the door had shut and Iwaizumi looked at him with a wondering expression, duffel bag against the back of the couch, did Oikawa stumble into his ace and loop his arms around his neck. He pressed their lips together in a bruising kiss, all the frustration and longing he felt pouring out of him as Iwaizumi carded his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. A hand cupped his cheek, gently rubbing the few tears that slipped away. 

“I missed you, I missed you, _I missed you,”_ he mumbled quietly, repeatedly, kissing him sweetly after each word. 

“Stop talking, ‘kawa,” was the reply he received, and Oikawa couldn’t understand the pure joy he felt at hearing the endearment. 

He pushed his cheek against the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck as the latter pulled Oikawa closer to him, breath hot against his shoulder. He leaned all his weight onto Iwaizumi, not caring that they might fall to the ground because the sole thing on his mind was, _Iwa-chan smells like mint and smoke, nothing like back in high school, when it was just fresh linen and body spray, come on, why do you smell so different, go back to normal, please._

“I got you,” he distantly heard Iwaizumi murmur in his ear as they dropped to the floor. “I got you.”

.....

_monday_

When Oikawa woke up the next morning, jet-lagged and weariness present in his eyes, Iwaizumi wasn’t at home. A note on the kitchen counter informed him that he was taking his last final exam for the winter semester. He fingered the ripped edge of the piece of paper, mouth dry as he noted that Iwaizumi’s handwriting was much more straightened and neater than in high school; some words at random were even written in cursive. 

He snorted. Iwaizumi used to be deathly awful at cursive.

Pocketing the note as a memento, he surveyed the kitchen. The sand-colored countertops were bare, save for a bowl of fruits and a stack of opened mail in the corner. A tiny cactus in a beige pot was placed near the fruits, and Oikawa made sure to avoid it when he reached for an apple. 

At one point, he would’ve barged into Iwaizumi’s kitchen as if it were his own, pulling bags of chips and cereal from the cabinets, just like he did at home. Now, alone in the quiet one-roomed apartment, he didn’t think it was okay for him to do so. 

“You’re strange, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said aloud with an exhale. The apple tasted bitter. “You call me self-absorbed, but then you own a cactus that’s the exact copy of your hairstyle.”

The neighboring apartment’s wind chimes hummed in reply.

Turning around, he let his eyes sweep over the rest of the apartment, noticing the noon sunlight as it illuminated the room. He slowly made his way towards the balcony’s sliding door, taking in the softness of the carpet beneath his feet, the dark leather of the couch, and the coffee table littered with papers and pens. With a click, he pushed the door open and stepped outside, the cool breeze whisking past him.

The balcony next door was covered with vines and potted plants, some leaves long enough to reach the edges of Iwaizumi’s balcony. He approached the railing with the tentativeness of a startled child, feeling much like one has he looked outwards. The apartment had a seemingly pretty view of the city, the university and nearby shops easily spotted. He gracelessly fell to the floor, tucking his legs underneath him to peer through the white metal railing. Twisting the ring on his left hand, he sighed inaudibly. 

Iwaizumi’s apartment reminded him of the numerous hotel rooms he had stayed in for out-of-home volleyball matches. Only necessities were there, and the few things that did hint at human life were so _bland_ that the bitterness of the feeling couldn’t even rival the apple’s. 

He sat there for a while, watching the birds fly overhead and people rush around under, low radio music coming from the apartment below him. 

“Liking the view?” Iwaizumi asked once he came home, finding Oikawa with half-lidded eyes in the sun’s warmth. Oikawa gave a slight jump at the voice, breaking the bubble of quietness he had encased himself in. His eyes narrowed when the former began to take out a small pack of cigarettes and light a stick up.

“You smoke?” He blurted out, because that wasn’t right.

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve been trying to quit, but whatever.” Iwaizumi shrugged, letting out a puff of smoke. “It’s a bad habit one of the guys got me into.”

“Oh.” That explained the smell of smoke on him from last night. “An athletic trainer destroying his lungs? Seems kinda’ stupid, Iwa-chan, even for you.”

If Oikawa had said that back in high school, Iwaizumi would have punched him diligently, offering him not even a moment to defend himself. But now, five years later, all he did was lean down closer to Oikawa, and blow the smoke right in his face.

“You idiot, don’t do that!” He swatted at the air, trying to clear up his vision. 

They lapsed into silence, something both old and new between them; once a comfort, it now lay as something murky and ill. It felt so strange to be in Iwaizumi’s grounding presence, like it was something not meant for him anymore, a gift he had thrown away as an immature child and didn’t understand its importance until after he had grown up and it was long lost.

 _One week,_ the wind whispered to him as he stared shamelessly at Iwaizumi. _One week, and then it’ll all be gone, child, only one week._

He waited for Iwaizumi to ask why he was here, what he was doing here, in Irvine, after the numerous times Oikawa had blatantly refused, but as the seconds ticked by, those ruthless questions remained unasked. It didn’t worry him as he previously expected. 

Iwaizumi took a seat next to him, and Oikawa moved closer, their knees grazing one another. He frowned towards something past Oikawa. The setter followed his line of sight, but when met with an open blue sky, he looked back at Iwaizumi. 

“What?”

Iwaizumi didn’t reply, only frowning harder. 

“Iwa-chan, if you stare any longer, something might explode and you’ll have to clean it up.”

“Your ring,” he stated, voice devoid of any emotion. 

Oikawa gave him a puzzled look, then turned towards the piece of jewelry on his hand. ‘Piece of jewelry’ was putting it quite lavishly. The offending object was a toy ring Iwaizumi had won from a lousy festival game back when they were in junior high. Oikawa had taken it from him, claiming that the thick, blue-grey plastic band would look better on him than Iwaizumi. 

“Yeah?” Oikawa said, bordering unsurety because he did know how pathetic it was to wear a ring from junior high. He knew, but when he had found the band when packing for Argentina, he slipped it on his finger and didn’t bother taking it off since then. “What about it?”

“Your ring,” Iwaizumi repeated, lowering the cigarette from his mouth. 

“Keep this up and I’m going to send you to a mental hospital.” 

Iwaizumi ignored his threat, dragging his eyes away from the ring. He cleared his throat, muttering a low _whatever_ before standing up to stretch. “Any place you wanna’ go see?”

Oikawa raised his hand to brush against the railing, forefinger trailing the twisted pattern. “Not particularly.” 

“Want coffee?”

He tried to memorize the lilt in his tone, engrain it in his mind if he could. He had missed it. “Sure.”

Iwaizumi stepped inside his apartment, and a few moments later, Oikawa followed. Iwaizumi busied himself with cleaning his table while Oikawa showered and dressed, all the while nervously twisting the ring. He rushed though, wanting to go back to hearing Iwaizumi’s clipped answers- maybe even stealing a kiss or two - even if he had to sit through the fea or those _why are you here_ questions.

“Where’s your brace?” Iwaizumi demanded the second Oikawa stepped out of the bedroom with a towel in his hands.

He froze for a moment, the heat in Iwaizumi’s voice causing him to panic. He forced an easy laugh out of him. “I don’t really need it anymore, Iwa-chan, you know that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Believe me, I don’t need it. I’ve been doing pretty good without it.” Another lie, and they both knew it. Oikawa crumbled the towel in his hands, unmoving from his place in the narrow hallway as he watched Iwaizumi sigh, then move towards the couch and take a seat in front of it. 

“Come here,” he grumbled, and Oikawa neared him, falling onto the sofa warily. Despite the scowl on his face, he gently took the towel from Oikawa’s hands and straightened it. Oikawa dropped his head, a few droplets of water falling to the carpet, and closed his eyes. He felt Iwaizumi dry his hair carefully, and he was so terribly close that Oikawa could smell his cologne, something bitter and strong and _foreign._ He disliked it. 

Once Iwaizumi stopped and lowered his arms, the warmth of his presence leaving Oikawa, the setter opened his eyes, blinking at Iwaizumi. They stared at each other for a moment, and Oikawa noted the flecks of green in Iwaizumi’s dark brown eyes. The interaction was done purely on instinct, something so natural and familiar because it was one that used to occur at least once a week during their childhood. 

Oikawa smiled, electricity pumping through his veins because finally, finally something that hadn’t changed. Iwaizumi shuffled forwards, then bent his head to press his lips against Oikawa’s right knee in a kiss. 

“You have to wear it,” Iwaizumi whispered, breath feverish against his skin. “I know you hate it, but you have to.”

He hated it, he hated the cream-colored brace so much that sometimes, he wished he could break his arm and not set for months than wear the constricting object. He felt chained whenever he wore it, the weight constantly reminding him that he was weak, that needed help in playing the sport he loved with all his heart and soul. 

“Okay,” Oikawa murmured, because Iwaizumi was pleading with him to do so, and he knew how fragile they already were. 

“Promise me.”

He silently told himself that he wouldn’t break this promise, the one he had already broken a dozen times before. He wouldn’t destroy it this time, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, _he wouldn’t._ “I promise.” 

He felt Iwaizumi’s lips curve into a smile, and he brought his palms together, twisting his fingers around themselves nervously. It was strange, how on the court, his hands were anything but fidgety - they were calm, cool, poised perfectly to set any ball in his way - but once off the court, off the magnetic force field of strength and determination that surrounded volleyball, his hands were never still. He would finger anything, twist anything, restlessness embedded in them as if it were his bones. 

Iwaizumi raised his head, then stilled Oikawa’s fingers by grabbing his wrists, beginning to rub tiny circles across his pulse point. His finger ghosted over the toy ring. “Stop doing that. You’re going to bruise them.”

Oikawa nodded, if only appeasing him. All of this, the concern, the warmth, the smiles, the promise, it all felt so _right,_ so _familiar_ that he didn’t want to do anything to break it until the week was over. The air was made of delicate glass, and anything slight of what would usually happen would shatter everything. 

“You’re alright, you know. You’re fine,” Iwaizumi said quietly. “You’re fine where you are.” 

_One week, and I’ll tell you why I’m here. One week, Iwa-chan, and then I’ll be gone._

Oikawa smiled softly, nodding once more, and stared at Iwaizumi’s hand around his wrist. Somehow, he had a feeling that Iwaizumi’s words had nothing to do with their present situation. 

.....

_tuesday_

Favorite coffee in hand, Oikawa kicked his feet up against the dashboard, slumping even more into his seat. He cradled the caramel latte with coconut cold foam gingerly, warming up his fingers before taking a long-yearned sip. He let out a breathy sigh, and Iwaizumi laughed at his antics, turning the heat on from the driver’s seat. Outside them, the rain streamed down harshly, and every few minutes, the sound of drumming thunder sent a jolt to Oikawa’s heart. 

“Sorry we couldn’t go to the park,” Iwaizumi said, swallowing a gulp of his dull black coffee. He leaned back in his seat, then tilted his head to look at Oikawa. “The lights look really pretty this time around.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Oikawa hummed, leaning forwards to turn the radio on. He played around with the tracks until a low pop song began to play. He didn’t really care to see anything special in Irvine; being in Iwaizumi’s presence was far better than he had imagined. 

A few moments passed before Oikawa registered that they were falling into silence once more. His heart rate increased slightly, before he settled back down, taking another sip of his sweet drink. It was okay, he reminded himself, the silence was _okay,_ because Iwaizumi had made it okay. They didn’t have to talk about anything, didn’t have to let meaningless words harbor in the air between them, because their actions have always spoken louder than their words. The silence didn’t mean awkwardness or fright, but rather the simple need of the other’s presence. 

He felt the tugged strain on his knee, and instead of ignoring it, he slightly bent his right leg, letting his tense muscles relax before straightening his leg again. He began to trace random constellations on his thigh, the familiar patterns of Scorpius, Lyra, Draco, and Andromeda washing over him. 

“...here, Tooru?” Iwaizumi was saying, and Oikawa snapped out of his reverie. 

“Hm?’ He prodded, turning to look at Iwaizumi. He took in the span of faint freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The sunlight had always brought out the starry freckles on Iwaizumi’s face. 

“How are you here?”

Oikawa blinked, then tilted his head with a teasing smile. “Iwa-chan, did you forget that airplanes exist? And that you had to drive two hours to pick me up at four in the morning?”

Iwaizumi shook his head and frowned, confusion bouncing in his eyes. He observed his coffee. “No, I mean, how are you here? In Irvine. Don’t you have a game in three days?”

“Oh. That,” he replied, looking away from Iwaizumi. He forced an easy chuckle out of him, sounding false and filled with lies. “I didn’t know you kept track of my game schedule.”

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi muttered, his tone brimmed with fondness. “Of course I do.”

_Will you still watch my games after this week, Iwa-chan? Will you still call me after my victories and tell me to get my egotistical head out of my ass? Will you still call me after my losses and tell me to get stronger?_

“My knee,” Oikawa let out, a bit too loudly based on Iwaizumi’s surprised expression. He lowered his tone. “My knee.” 

“Your knee,” Iwaiuzmi repeated, and Oikawa pulled his legs closer to his chest. “What happened?”

“Nothing _that_ bad, Iwa-chan, stop glaring at me as if you want me dead!” Upon Iwaizumi’s deadpan stare, he gave in. “It’s just... the other day, during practice, I may have sprained my knee. Coach, he said it’d be better for the team and me if I took a week-long break.”

Iwaizumi groaned and almost crushed the coffee cup in his hand. “You _idiot.”_

Oikawa hid his mouth into the collar of his jacket, his voice now muffled. “I’m sorry, okay?”

He braced himself for the questions he knew were a second command for Iwaizumi - _Were you wearing a brace? Did you do all your exercises? Did you stay late for practice?_ \- but they never came. They never came, and the only sound he heard was the radio host talking about the weather for the next three days. 

“Iwa-chan?” He straightened his back, desperate for a response. The words spilled out of him, uncontrolled, “Iwa-chan, I’m sorry, listen, it was okay for a while, I promise. I did everything I was supposed to, I swear, but then on Saturday, I fell on this stupid ball and pulled the muscle. The doctor said it wasn’t that bad though. I could play, can still play, but Coach insisted I take a break. I’m okay, really, I’m-”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi interrupted with a gentle beat, eyes fixed hazily at the car’s speedometer, and Oikawa froze, heart still electrified. “You know, ever since you left for Argentina, I’ve been wishing you’d get injured. Not permanently, and nothing too serious, but just enough that you’d come back to me. I didn’t know the stupid wish would _actually_ come true, dang it.” 

Oikawa blinked, bringing his coffee cup closer, wanting to feel its warmth a little while longer before it almost faded away. 

“Iwa-chan-” he began, but Iwaizumi stopped him once more. 

“You’re an athlete. I shouldn’t be reminding you this, but you are one, Oikawa.” He paused, finally focusing on Oikawa, giving him a lopsided yet bittersweet smile. “Take better care of yourself, okay, future Olympian?”

Without waiting for a promise, Iwaizumi set his cup down and shifted the gear. He leaned back to reverse, and Oikawa was helpless, left only staring numbly at his best friend as they drove back to Iwaizumi’s apartment. 

.....

_wednesday_

“Iwa-chan, we’ve got a problem.”

Iwaizumi hummed nonchalantly as he threw in some shredded carrots into the steaming pot on the stove, making a late breakfast. The kitchen was warm, far warmer than Oikawa’s shower had been, but he still climbed on the counter, sliding his ring on and off his finger. A droplet of water ran down his spine, causing him to shiver. 

“What is it?”

“I can’t cry,” he complained, pitching his voice slightly higher to resemble a whine. A drop of water fell onto the counter.

The unstable comfortableness that was built not even two days ago was cracked. It wasn’t completely shattered, for the foundation still remained strong, but it worried Oikawa nonetheless. He was a volleyball player; he didn’t know how to fix something as delicate and dainty as glass. The time spent together resembled a horror movie for him; there was a ticking bomb, counting down seconds, minutes, hours, and Oikawa didn’t know how much time was left until the inevitable blast would shatter the glass. 

“And why’s that?” A pause. “Why do you wanna’ cry right now, Shittykawa?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like crying. But I can’t.” 

He watched - stared, observed, noted, memorized - Iwaizumi’s effortless and certain behavior, his movements as he cut up the vegetables, boiled the rice, placed the meat and cracked the eggs over the food in simple white bowls. Simple, simple, simple, just as everything with Iwaizumi was, simple, _simple,_ just like the wooden tiles of his simple apartment’s simple kitchen.

The domesticity of it all tugged painfully at Oikawa’s heartstrings. _Of course_ he had imagined living with Iwaizumi, a home where they could wake up together with lazy kisses and screwed up clothes. He could play for a Japanese team while Iwaizumi was his athletic trainer, and he’d accomplish all the goals his elementary-self had created. In every fantasy, it was always _Japan,_ with their soft sakura petals and sweet milkbread... never Argentina. 

“Aliens don’t exist.”

Oikawa looked up from the floor to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi looked back at him with a single raised eyebrow. 

“They do, Iwa-chan, don’t be ridiculous.” He’s changed, huh? “Good try. I’ll just go rewatch Tangled again.” 

Iwaizumi picked up the bowls, moving towards the couch. Oikawa watched the definite action, then followed, jumping off the countertop. “You are so stupid. Seriously, who cries during a _kissing scene?_ With freaking lanterns, nonetheless.”

Oikawa laughed, pulling on the sleeves of his sweater as he sat down on the floor, Iwaizumi across from him on the sofa. It was always oIkawa who preferred to sit on the ground rather than Iwaizumi, liking the stability and the feeling of _I’m okay, I’m here_ it offered. 

“Don’t be rude, that scene was romantic.” He pointed his pair of chopsticks towards Iwaizumi. “And they were _about_ to kiss, but they didn’t actually do it.”

“So you cry over a scene where they don’t even kiss? That’s worse, dumbass.”

“Arms up,” Iwaizumi said, side-stepping into the odd room. Oikawa turned away from the window and glanced up, vaguely raising his arms so Iwaizumi could place a cat on his lap. Immediately, the feline creature pounced off, landing on its paws and strutting away. Iwaizumi clicked his tongue, then gently picked up the animal once more to deposit it into Oikawa’s lap. 

“Well, she’s being annoying,” he declared after the third time the cat jumped off Oikawa. He sat cross-legged across from him, glaring at the cat. “Her name’s Twix. Like the chocolate.”

Shaking his head, Oikawa moved the ring from his ring finger to his forefinger. He eyed Twix, her fur the color somewhere in between auburn and hazel, mumbling, “Never tried it.” 

They were seated on the floor of Iwaizumi’s old dorm room, now occupied by a boy from his school’s football team. Iwaizumi remained friends with him, and often came to see Twix, the cat his friend had adopted a year or so ago. Oikawa wondered how the room looked when Iwaziumi had lived in it. Were the curtains the same ghastly orange color, or were they something more appealing? Was it much neater, instead of the current situation of clothes scattered everywhere? Did the place smell like cigarette smoke rather than burnt pizza smoke? 

“Believe me, she’s a lot better around people. She usually just jumps upon anyone.” Iwaizumi moved towards the cat and held out his arms. Twix leaped right into them, curling her body against Iwaizumi. Her paw grazed over the silver watch on Iwaizumi’s wrist as he leaned closer to Oikawa. “Here, just pet her like this.”

He lifted a hand to carefully skim across her head, but as soon as his hand neared her bdy, Twix whipped her paw outwards and slashed his hand. A jolt of electricity and pain overwhelmed him, then the feeling instantly diminished, replaced with a dull ache. 

He let out a gasp, then stared at the retreating cat, who now busied herself with clawing at the base of the television. A red line lay from the base of his palm to his wrist, a single bead of blood dropping to the carpet. 

“Twix, you idiotic cat,” Iwaizumi grumbled, then grasped Oikawa’s palm in his, fingers lightly thumbing over the scratch. “You okay?”

He nodded, tilting his head to look at the lousy wound. Wanting to keep Iwaizumi’s attention on him and not the damn cat, he lied, “It hurts.”

“Does it now?” Iwaizumi asked, amusement creeping into his tone. He quickly cleared his throat, then assumed a professional voice. “That _does_ look like a grave injury. Want me to tape it for you? Or should we go to the hospital to get a doctor to look at it.” 

Oikawa hummed, thinking over it. “I think I’ll heal a lot quicker if you give me a kiss, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi snorted, but nevertheless, he raised Oikawa’s hand to his lips and left a flutter of light kisses in his wake. Warmth encircled every inch of Oikawa’s body, yet he couldn’t push down the growing ache in his chest, reminding him that he wouldn’t ever have this again. 

“The lips, too, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa added with a childish wink, but Iwaizumi took it in stride, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as well. He then stood up, muttered a quiet _wait here,_ and walked towards the kitchen. Oikawa moved the toy ring back to his ring finger, and Iwaizumi briskly returned with a damp washcloth and a candy bar, which he lazily threw at Oikawa. “That’s a Twix bar.”

Oikawa gave Twix a glance. “Maybe I should have her eat this. Would it be considered as cannibalism?”

“Chocolate’s bad for cats, idiot,” Iwaizumi stated with a grin, kneeling before Oikawa and carefully twisting his palm towards him. He pressed the washcloth against the scratch, and despite it being such an unnecessary gesture - it didn’t even hurt, he’s perfectly fine, it’ll heal - he couldn’t help the surge of happiness in his veins. Iwaizumi had always taken care of Oikawa’s injuries, bandaging him up ever since they were kids chasing butterflies and playing make-believe in the grass. 

“You’re a setter, dumbass. Be careful with your hands,” Iwaizumi said, leaning back and letting go of Oikawa’s wrist. 

“Yeah, I’m a future Olympian, remember?” Oikawa gently cracked his knuckles, then murmured, “Thanks.”

“Always, stupid.”

.....

_thursday_

The beginning of the end commenced earlier than Oikawa had expected, with a few bottles of sparkling beer, lit cigarettes, and an opened package of bittersweet strawberries, and a night sky clustered with tiny stars. Seated on the balcony, wrapped in blankets despite the humidity in the air, they shared trivial memories of their times in San Juan and Irvine, respectively. Idly sipping the beer, the pleasantness of the moment reminded Oikawa of their late-night sleepovers back in Miyagi.

“Hey, so Tooru, when do you plan on going back home?” Iwaizumi questioned, tilting his bottle to take a sip of the beer. The left side of his blanket slipped down in the process, so he pulled it back up. 

“Home?” Oikawa repeated, eyes tracing the line of Iwaizumi’s face. Irvine had done him good, he noticed, for his skin glowed even in the darkness of the night. His smiles were more humorous and carefree, though perhaps that was the beer’s doing. “You’re my home, Iwa-chan, so I’m already here.” 

With a disheartened gasp, Oikawa lowered his eyes. The words had come out on impulse, so true and genuine that he hadn’t even needed to think twice about it. His flight back to Argentina was in less than three days, that inescapable Saturday looming over him; by then, everything would be... over. 

Ever oblivious to Oikawa’s hesitance, Iwaizumi reached over to ruffle Oikawa’s hair. “Sure, dumbass. I wonder what your poor volleyballs are thinking back in San Juan. Maybe they’re planning my death for stealing their man.”

He didn’t even try to fight the smile that grew on his face, his heart overflowing with fondness. 

“So?” Iwaizumi prompted, fingers running up and down Oikawa’s thigh. “When are you gonna’ go back to Japan?”

_Never, Iwa-chan, never. I’m never going back. Why can’t you know that? Why do I have to tell you?_

“I don’t really know. When will you?”

“After I graduate. Utsui-san said my internship will finish around then too, so I’ll be able to go back and hopefully sign with a good team.” He paused, as if mulling over his next words, and then continued, “One team already sent me an offer. They know I’m still a student, but they insisted that I at least research them and think about it.” 

Of course Iwaizumi was going to go back. Unlike Oikawa, his stay in Irvine was only temporary, and he never tried to hide that certain fact. Just as he said, he’d go back to Japan and sign with a volleyball team. He’d be able to train athletes in the sport he loved as a child, the sport that he learned of and dragged Oikawa alongside him. He still thought Oikawa would-

“What team?” he croaked, dissuading himself from thinking about the file of papers on his kitchen countertop. 

“The Schweidan Alders. Kageyama’s their official starting setter. They were looking for an athletic trainer, and he told them about me.” 

“Oh,” he said, because _oh._ Iwaizumi was serious. He had legitimate offers waiting for him, despite not even being in his last year of university. He wouldn’t be in Irvine forever, no, he’d go back to Japan, maybe sign with Kageyama, and be a successful person. He’d care for athletes other than Oikawa, _setters_ other than Oikawa. “Tobio-chan, huh, Iwa-chan? Do you keep in touch with him?”

He felt a nod against his head, then saw Iwaizumi roll his eyes. “Don’t be like that.”

Oikawa sat there, enamored by the way the beer fizzed up. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve got to- apologize to him anyway. It’s- yeah.” 

“You? Wanting to apologize to your prodigy? Have you actually been replaced by aliens?” Iwaizumi poked his cheek. Oikawa narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t reply, so Iwaizumi resumed, “I haven’t agreed to anything yet, but I wonder what Kageyama said to them that made them send an offer so early.” 

“You’re... you’re really good at what you do,” Oikawa began, turning away from Iwaizumi’s gaze to stare at a building across the street. _“Exceptionally_ good, so you can’t honestly be surprised that they want you on their team. It was a given.”

He didn’t glance back at him, but he had a feeling Iwaizumi’s eyes were trained on anything but the setter. He always looked away when embarrassed. 

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, then plucked a strawberry from the box between them. “How about you? Got any offers from any other teams?”

 _No,_ he wanted to voice, but his mind wouldn’t let him. _No, of course not, Iwa-chan. I’ve never been good enough for Japan. Not for high school nationals, not for professional nationals, not even for the Olympics. Japan has never wanted me, so for the first time, I’m not waiting for my home country when I have a chance right in front of me. Argentina wants me, needs me, and-_

“I’m never going to get an offer from them,” he said, leaning back against the railing and pulling his knees to his chest. “I’ve always been too good for Japan, you know that.”

Iwaizumi has always seen right through his defenses. “You’re not telling me something.”

“You’re right, as usual.” 

“Okay.” Iwaizumi’s finger stilled from where it was absentmindedly rubbing circles on Oikawa’s thigh. “What is it?”

He inhaled sharply, fingers gripping the hem of his sweater, frightened like the young teenager he was when boarding the flight to Argentina. “I filled out the forms to become a naturalized Argentine citizen.” 

There it was. The inevitable bomb explosion’s trigger that shattered them into a million different pieces. Perhaps it was simply Oikawa’s imagination, but the air around them suddenly turned ice cold, Iwaizumi pulling away from Oikawa’s grasp. The few millimeters between their bodies spanned to 6,000 miles in an instant, a quick blink of an eye. He couldn’t hear Iwaizumi, couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him; his senses were overwhelmed with the sheer feeling of _I’ve ruined everything._

The trigger was released, and so the words spilled out of him, the ones he hadn’t wanted to share for the past week. “Iwa-chan, I’m going to be a citizen of Argentina. I know Japan doesn’t allow a dual-citizenship, so I’m never going back to Japan. San Juan is where- where I need to be now. Nationals are happening next year, you must know that. The year after that? Olympics. Future Olympian, right, Iwa-chan?”

He heard no reply.

Reality blurred through his tears, and so he reached out blindly for the beer bottle once more, wanting some to grip between his fingers.

“I’m so sorry. When Coach told me about the opportunity for nationals, I wanted to call you. Not my parents, or Makki or Mattsun, but _you,_ because you’ve been by my side since the second I entered this world. Seriously, you were born before me. There’s never been a single day in my life where you weren’t there with me in some way.” 

Letting go of the bottle, he pulled off his ring, trailing a finger around its inner edge.

How large was the gap between them now? 6,000 miles, or 11,000 miles? Was the explosion so devastating that the shards flew across the world? Couldn’t they just stay in Irvine, in Iwaizumi’s simple, hotel-room-like apartment? 

He reiterated, “I wanted to call you, because I was so happy, and you’ve been a part of every joyous memory of mine. I had dialed your number, but... but how was I supposed to tell you that I wasn’t going to go back to Japan? I couldn’t do that to you, not over call, not ever - though I suppose it’s far too late to say that, yeah?”

Adrenaline rushed through his veins with the urgency of electricity, his tears so frighteningly warm against his cheek. He tried to reach out for Iwaizumi, but couldn’t feel him. Was he even here? Where’d he go?

“I ended up calling Takeru. I think he told me what you would have told me. He said to do whatever would help me achieve my dreams. And I thought, ‘What are my dreams?’ but he reminded me that volleyball has always been my goal, that the Olympics have always been my goal. So I did just that. I filled out the forms and sent them. My court date’s in two weeks.” He paused. “There’s- there’s no turning back now.”

Finally, _finally_ he brought up his hands to brush away his tears. He struggled to see the fairy-tale he had thrown himself into only moments ago. Iwaizumi’s blankets lay strewn at his feet, and the smell of smoke harbored over him; he wished Iwaizumi hadn’t left. 

“Where are you, Iwa-chan? Why’d you leave?” he mumbled, straightening his legs before him. He stared at the ring in his hand. “No, no. It was me. I left, didn’t I? I left you in Miyagi five years ago, and now I’m leaving you again. It’s only fair that you leave me now.”

Exhaustion slammed into him like the spike of a volleyball, and Oikawa, with all his strength, threw his ring against the wall in front of him. He watched the blue-grey plastic band break in half, then clatter down to the floor, one in the strawberry box and the other on top of Iwaizumi’s blankets.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staring at the broken pieces. “Fuck.”

The stars above twinkled despite the sorrow he felt. The broken ring didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, for the wind whispered into his ear, mocked, “Dear boy, what did you _possibly_ expect?”

.....

_friday_

“You broke it?”

Clutching the steaming cup of hot chocolate, Oikawa nodded, flickering away from the fractured jewelry in between Iwaizumi’s fingers. He sank even further into the pillow behind him, quietly drumming against the mug. Outside, thunder and lightning raged against one another, encompassing the world in a bloody brawl of iron-clad grey. 

“Wanna’ get a new one?” Iwaizumi teased from the opposite end of the couch, knocking Oikawa’s knee with his own. 

“Sure,” he whispered, the first word he’d spoken all afternoon. By the time Iwaizumi had come back to his apartment, Oikawa had cleaned the balcony with a numbed ache in his chest, only collapsing on the sofa once everything was organized. Drenched with rainwater, Iwaizumi had made them both hot chocolate before showering and falling into place next to Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi was trying to put the glass shards back together. Oikawa only hoped that he was at least careful while handling the sharp edges. 

“I’m sorry I left last night,” Iwaizumi began, eyes glazed over as he frowned at the floor. “I just needed to think, y’ know? In hindsight, I guess I always knew you wouldn’t go back to Japan. You went to Argentina to win gold, and you’re not one to settle for anything less than what you want.”

“What I _deserve,”_ Oikawa mumbled, correcting him. “I deserve gold.”

Iwaizumi laughed softly, and the sound caused Oikawa to smile as well. “What you deserve, sure. You shipped yourself off to a country our parents didn’t even know existed until the moment you told them you were offered a position. Remember their shocked faces when you told them you had to learn an entirely new language?” 

His eyes bounced from one corner of Iwaizumi’s apartment to the next, watching Iwaizumi’s tense movements. To anyone else, they would seem normal, casual and careless even, but he could feel the distress radiate off of him. With a glance, he realized that this was it. Iwaizumi would ask that dreaded question, and he’d have to answer, and whatever fragmented pieces Iwaizumi had picked up would be carried off by the oncoming wind. 

He did end up asking. 

“Tooru, why _are_ you here?”

He’d prepared countless explanations in his head, talking aloud to the stars and clouds, begging them to help him; looking at Iwaizumi’s tired eyes, still alight with kindness, his former arguments all but vanished. 

“Remember... remember a week ago, two days before I arrived, you told me what you wanted for the future?” He swallowed, wishing so desperately for his ring. “A- a house, or even an apartment? Somewhere close to your mom because she doesn’t want to worry about you any more than she already has to? And- and a team, where your athletes relied on you solely, and actually listened? ‘Unlike you, Shittykawa,’ you said.”

“Tooru, I didn’t-” Iwaizumi began, gentle and caring as always, but Oikawa barreled on, ignoring the drum of thunder outside. 

“You want a pet too, a dog if possible, because you saw one of your classmates’ golden retriever and fell in love with him. But then you remembered that I dislike dogs, so you said you’d settle for a cat, because I like them. You want me to come home to you, so you can take care of me, because no one can do that better than you. You want so much, you want _an actual life, Iwa-chan,_ and I-”

“I know I do, but I was just saying all that-”

“Iwa-chan, _I can’t give you any of that.”_ The words cut through him like electric swords. “Iwa-chan, I really can’t give you anything you want, anything you deserve. Not because I don’t love you, because I do, I love you as much as there are stars in our universe, but even that much- Hajime, even that much isn’t enough. _It’s not enough.”_

Through teary eyes, he saw Iwaizumi look at him, tight-lipped and confused. Oikawa gripped the hot chocolate mug a bit tighter, lest it fall; the lingering warmth had faded away. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi said thickly, “You don’t have to.”

“But I should, shouldn’t I? I should be able to give you everything, but I _can’t_ , because- because we both know-”

“Volleyball,” Iwaizumi finished with certainty, and Oikawa nodded, albeit lamely. “You’re becoming an Argentine citizen to continue playing volleyball.”

“There are so many things that I will do without hesitation - you of all people know that best. But one thing I will never do is ask you to uproot your entire life for me. Neither of us deserve that. Your life has always been in Japan, even Irvine was a temporary stay. I can’t - I won’t - ask you to destroy everything for me.”

Iwaizumi let the words disperse into the air, not responding as he looked at anything in his simple home besides Oikawa. For that, the setter was grateful; he didn’t think he'd be able to handle the weight of Iwaizumi’s gaze. The storm outside had calmed down to a light stream of rain, and Oikawa believed the terrible weather had phased through the balcony door to enter the apartment. 

“Tooru, did you come here to break up with me?” 

“Yeah,” he replied back, because that’s all there was to say. “You deserve better.”

“Volleyball really has always been your first love, huh, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi tried to laugh, but the shattered sound made it seem like anything but. “You didn’t even tell me that you were going to submit your stupid application. You didn’t bother asking for my opinion. Jerk, what do you think I would’ve said?”

What happened to the pieces of glass? Did Iwaizumi drop them, deciding not to bruise his fingers on their shattered edges anymore?

“I would’ve supported you without a single millisecond of thought, you know? Hell, I might have even told you to save me an application, so I could live in Argentina with you. You could’ve told me the questions and answer choices, like we did in high school.” 

Oikawa laughed, soft and minute, because how was it that during the midst of a battle, Iwaizumi could make him smile?

“Iwa-chan, you hate the heat. It doesn’t even snow in San Juan.”

“You’re right, but I’d suffer through the damn thing for you.”

“And I would never ask you to.”

Iwaizumi sighed inaudibly, running a hand through his hair. He got up, throwing aside a pillow, and disappeared into the kitchen. Oikawa set his nearly-full cup of hot chocolate down, watching the marshmallows slowly sink into his sweet drink. Iwaizumi returned with a glass of water, downing it immediately before sitting. 

“If your plan was to break up with me all this time, then why did you wait an entire week?” Iwaizumi asked, voice somewhat more refreshed. 

He shrugged, eyeing the broken ring pieces now placed on the table. “I guess I just wanted to see you, indulge myself for just a while longer.”

“Selfish brat.”

“Mhmm...” He really was selfish. Coming to Irvine, seeing Iwaizumi smile, delaying the inevitable end until the last moment... all of it was because he didn’t want to lose the best person in his life. 

“Why _are_ we breaking up though? We made it through five years. Why does this have to stop?” Iwaizumi questioned, confusion laced in his tone. 

“I can’t keep dragging you through something I don’t intend to finish, Iwa-chan. Your life is in Japan. Mine- mine is in San Juan. It just won’t _work.”_

“You want to win volleyball first.” A statement, not a question, yet he still nodded. Iwaizumi sighed, then stood up once again. “Okay. I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”

What.

“Wait, wait, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa exclaimed, and Iwaizumi turned around, crossing his arms. Oikawa twisted his fingers. “You’re not going to... try to change my decision?”

Iwaizumi gave him a knowing glance. “When have I ever been able to dissuade you?”

“That’s why I said _try,_ Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi snorted, then fell into a fit of laughter, and Oikawa couldn’t help but grin at the sound. “No, I won’t, because I love you enough to let you go to accomplish your dreams.” 

(That night, for the first time in a week, Oikawa slept on the couch and not on the left side of Iwaizumi’s bed, idly gripping the place his ring used to be.)

.....

_saturday_

“So this is it, huh?”

“Yeah...”

“You got everything?”

“Of course.”

“Go get gold then. Go get gold and come back to me.”

“I will.”

“Both, okay? You have to do both.”

“Okay.”

“...”

“Don’t wait for me, Iwa-chan.”

“I will.”

_“Don’t.”_

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _“Tooru,” Iwaizumi interrupted with a gentle beat, eyes fixed hazily at the car’s speedometer, and Oikawa froze, heart still electrified. “You know, ever since you left for Argentina, I’ve been wishing you’d get injured. Not permanently, and nothing too serious, but just enough that you’d come back to me. I didn’t know the stupid wish would actually come true, dang it.”_  
>  this paragraph was loosely taken from crazychipmunk's, ["hesitate."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385404)


End file.
